"She hasn't miscarried," the doctor reassured James. "Everything seems fine, though we'll want to keep her here for a few days to monitor her condition. Your wife is in exceptional health, if a little underweight. Her athletic condition helped her survive this accident. She's lucky to be alive."
James stuttered out "Thank you" over and over again. I shuddered and turned, burying my face in Andrew's chest while James asked the doctor a few more questions.
"She's going to be okay." I straightened my shoulders and pushed a loose strand of hair out of my face. James opened his arms for a hug, and I held on for dear life. "She's okay… she's okay." As I stepped back, Andrew offered me his handkerchief and I mopped away my tears but they wouldn't stop coming; the exhaustion was feeding them.
The doctor looked at his watch. "She's awake." He smiled at James. "Why don't we get you back there to see her? I'll have a nurse escort you to her room." He glanced at Andrew and me. "I'm sorry, I don't want her overstimulated. You two will have to wait until tomorrow."
James decided to stay at the hospital overnight, so Andrew and I left our phone numbers as emergency contacts and headed back to my house. I stared dumbly into space while Andrew drove. What the hell were we going to do next? Exhaustion, fear, and guilt tangled my thoughts, and I kept coming back to the edge of the ravine, watching the headlights, wondering if Harlow was dead.
By the time we pulled into my driveway and stumbled into the house, the sky had clouded over. I locked the door. We dragged ourselves upstairs and settled into bed without talking. Andrew snuggled against my back, draping one arm over my shoulder as I stared at the wall. I couldn't sleep; images of the night—so alien with the sirens and crash and ice—raced through my mind, and when his arm dropped away and he started to snore, I quietly slipped out from beneath the quilt to peek through my bedroom window. A light dusting of snow was falling. The sky was illuminated from the faint hint of silver that snow clouds always bring with them. Comforted, at least for the moment, that we were safe, Harlow was safe, and the children were safe, I returned to bed and finally managed to drop off to sleep. I didn't dream at all that night.
* * * *
The smell of bacon woke me up. I wandered down to the kitchen, letting my nose lead me. Andrew was busy, frying up the golden strips of pork. A fluffy three-cheese omelette and whole-grain toast were in the warming oven. My stomach rumbled, and I felt like I had a bad hangover—at least the headache part of it—as I glanced at the clock. Ten-thirty. About four hours of sleep. Murray was supposed to bring the kids back at about three, but I couldn't let that happen. After last night, I knew for sure that Mr. B & U was out for blood.
Andrew whistled as he ground the beans and tapped them into the mesh holder of the espresso machine. He leaned down and kissed me before bouncing back over to the counter to get our juice. "Good morning. How's my favorite witch?"
I groaned. "Are you sure your name isn't Twinkle Toes? That's what I'm going to call you, you know… Twink, for short. You are far too bright and bubbly after last night. What are you on? Some kind of uppers?"
"Oh, sure." He laughed. "Puppy-Uppers. Then I take Doggy-Downers when I reach the point where everybody wants to kill me." He slid into the chair opposite me and waited as I took a bite of the eggs. The omelette melted in my mouth, oozing with cheese and a hint, just a hint, of cayenne.
"Mmm… can I hire you as my personal cook? I think the kids might want to eat at home more if we ate like this every day." I bit into the bacon. Crisp, sizzling, but not so hard it hurt the teeth.
Andrew dug into his breakfast. "So, are you okay this morning?"
Was I okay? As the fog began to lift from my brain, I examined my feelings. The edge was gone from my panic but I could still feel it there, under the surface. "No, I am not okay. I feel responsible for the fact that my best friend almost lost her life last night. Now I get to wait for how long it will take both Harl and James to figure it out and dump me, and they'll have every right. When I realized that she was lying at the bottom of that ravine, I felt just like I did when I realized that I'd ignored my ex's behavior for too long. His actions were hurting my kids, and I didn't want to see it because I didn't want to face what it meant. Murray teases me about being selfish, and she's right."
"It wasn't your fault—"
"Then whose fault was it? I'm the one who got her involved in this. I'm not going to shirk my responsibility in this."
Andrew shook his head. "No. She chose to get involved, she chose to come over last night. You had nothing to do with hurting her."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could he fail to see the connection? "Listen, I screw up… sometimes pretty bad, but I never avoid admitting my mistakes. Are you blaming Harl for this? She didn't drive off that road on purpose."
He let out an exasperated sigh. "No, I am not blaming Harlow for the accident, but you shouldn't blame yourself, either. You didn't tell the ghost to go push her off the edge. In fact, you told Harlow she had to back off. You tried to protect her. Why should you feel guilty for something somebody else did?"
I stared at my half-eaten omelette. Something about his refusal to accept that I was at least partially at fault for what had happened bothered me. Did he blow off responsibility when things went wrong because of something he did, too? He must have sensed my hesitation, because he reached over and tapped my chin.
"Emerald, I just don't want you being too hard on yourself. Blame is useless right now—our main focus should be to fix what's gone wrong. Guilt only eats up energy."
I couldn't argue with that, even though part of me still felt that something about his reasoning was off, but I was too tired to fight. After a minute, I relaxed and slumped back in my chair. "I guess we're all a little tense."
He gave a half laugh and lifted his coffee mug. "I'll drink to that."
As I picked up my fork again, the phone rang. I grabbed the receiver.
"Hey, Em…" Harlow's voice was shaky, but to me it had never sounded so sweet. They were keeping her for observation. She was scared, though. "Listen, I'm going to make this quick while James is off getting something to eat. So far, he thinks I just had an accident. I want to leave it that way. He doesn't believe in ghosts, he doesn't want to think about things like that. But I saw them out there on the road, and I tell you, whatever that thing is, it's dangerous… to you, to Susan… to anybody who tries to cross it. Please be careful, Em. If it tried to kill me, what's it planning on doing to you?"
"Don't worry about me." My voice broke as the tears rose back up from where they were resting. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
Harlow snorted. "You weren't the one who pushed me off the road." Her voice grew soft and she sounded phlegmy, as if she'd been crying. "But now that James knows I'm pregnant, he's so happy. He loves you, Em, but he might not take it too well if he knows what we've been up to. I won't tell him, I promise. You guys are good friends and I want you to stay that way."
My eyes misted over. "You really are an angel. Harl, you've already been a big help. Thank you for everything, but we were right—you can't get involved." I reassured her that we would keep her up-to-date on what was going on, and she reassured me that if she heard anything out of the ordinary, she'd let me know. I replaced the receiver. All I could think about was that she wasn't angry at me and she wasn't going to tell James. I'd been handed a last-minute pardon by the governor himself. I turned to Andrew.
"We're on our own, bub. Harlow's out of the picture. Thank heaven, she and the baby are going to be okay. She's not telling James about the ghost, so don't you mention it, either." I played with the rest of my eggs, no longer hungry. "We've got a real mess on our hands. I don't think I can do anything about Walter until I take care of Mr. B & U. I certainly can't bring my kids back to this house until I clear him out."
Andrew stretched. "After we take care of the dishes, we could take a drive over to Walter's. Try to talk to him."
I wrinkled my nose. "I just told you that I c
an't deal with him until I get rid of this spirit that's terrorizing my family and friends. And what would we talk to him about? I don't think he was too thrilled to hear that Harl and I had been down in Seattle hunting up his estranged daughter."
"I don't know," Andrew said. He sounded petulant. "I'm just trying to come up with something that might help. First you say that Susan thinks he killed her. Now we find out that he has no motive, no reason to get rid of her. Maybe we can't prove him guilty, but can we prove him innocent? Maybe Susan is all messed up because she's dead!"
I stared at him. "Maybe so, but what if she's telling the truth? What if Walter is more clever than either of us give him credit for? He can't be a stupid man, not with the career he's built for himself. I know you feel guilty about her death, but there's nothing you can do now—"
He slammed his fist down on the table. I jumped as his eyes flashed, and my stomach twisted in knots. "Why is it all right for you to get upset over Harlow's accident and accept blame for it, but I can't feel guilty over Susan's death? What's the difference?"
I hated to admit it, but what he said made sense. However, his outburst was unacceptable. "I understand what you're saying, Andrew. I really do. But don't ever raise your fist in my house again. I took that kind of anger from Roy, but I won't take it from anybody else. I refuse to be afraid in my own home."
He looked away and swallowed, pulling his hand back onto his knee. "I shouldn't have done that; I was out of line. I'm sorry."
I relented a little. There were too many other things to worry over without tackling yet another problem. "Yeah, I know. Things are a real mess, aren't they?"
Andrew shrugged one shoulder, and he gave me a wan smile. "Everything is out of kilter lately. And with Joshua's accusations, I have the feeling it's only going to get worse."
I took his hand. "Come on, let's go relax. We had a scary night, and we're both still tired." We wandered into the living room, where I grabbed the remote. The local news was on, and we curled up on the sofa. Thank goodness it was Sunday and Cinnamon was in charge of the shop for the afternoon. As it was, I still had to call Murray to ask if she could keep the kids one more night. There was a news item about a house fire out on Steel Eye Stream; looked bad. I hoped the family had made it out safely. A quick reference to Harlow's accident flashed by, but the details were sketchy.
Andrew pressed a quick kiss onto the end of my nose. "I guess I'll spend the afternoon working. I'm starting a new book."
"New book? Good for you." I perked up. "What's the plot?"
"Wandering minstrel, midwife, evil landowner… another historical romance."
"Leave me one of your books." I usually didn't read romances, but I wasn't about to miss out on this opportunity.
He snickered. "I can't wait to hear what you have to say about it. Just be gentle? I'll be right back; I've got a few scattered in the car." He pulled on his shirt and dashed out into the overcast morning. More snow due this afternoon. When he returned, he was shivering. "Colder than a witch's tit out there," he said, then blushed. "Sorry."
"Andrew, I might actually admit to being the town witch, but I do still have a sense of humor. After all we've been through the past day or two, don't sweat it."
He dropped a book in my lap, and I picked it up and examined the cover. The woman on the cover was gorgeous, of course, with a breathless look and boobs that were ready to fall out of her elegant, yet ripped, ball gown. Behind her stood a tall, brooding man with a leer on his face, and behind both of them towered the silhouette of a mansion. The Mistress of Peach Tree Manor. I glanced at the author's name. Yep—Andrea Martin, like he'd first told me.
He coughed. "Women still resist buying romances written by men. So I use a pseudonym, and by the time they figure out I'm a guy, they're hooked on my work."
Squelching a wicked desire to tease him, I bit back a few choice remarks about his subject matter. "I want to curl up and read it right now, but I'll save it for later tonight." I was flipping through the pages when a breaking news bulletin flashed on the television. I turned the sound up. The reporter was Cathy Sutton—one of Bellingham's overly bright and peppy young television personalities.
"In a surprising move, police have made an arrest in the murder of a woman found stabbed to death in her Seattle apartment on Thursday. Police announced this morning that they have taken Walter Mitchell of Chiqetaw into custody. Mitchell was married to the deceased woman's mother, author Susan Mitchell, who died last week of diabetes-related complications. Police have recovered what they believe to be the murder weapon from Mitchell's house as well as evidence from the woman's apartment."
I set Andrew's book on the table and stared at the TV. "I'll be damned."
Andrew glanced at me, uncertain. "I don't think we'll be talking to Walter anytime soon."
As I tightened the belt on my bathrobe, I couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't set right about Walter's arrest. The next headline came on, so I turned off the television. "I have to call Murray. Why don't you go ahead and do whatever you need to do."
Andrew headed for the door. "Call me later. Want to meet for dinner?"
"Maybe—let's see what happens. Pet the cats for me, would you? I miss them." He promised, and I waved as he pulled out of the driveway. The fact that Walter was behind bars felt right in so many ways but no, something was out of kilter. I sighed. Too many questions, and I had too much to do to worry about finding the answers. After a quick shower, I put in a call to Murray.
She answered on the second ring. "Hey, we were just talking about you. When do you want me to bring the kids over?"
"Got a problem with that." I filled her in on what had happened with Harlow. "Is there any way you can come over today? Can you leave them with White Deer? I'm scared to have them back in this house."
"Hold on," she said, and I heard her talking to White Deer in the background. After a moment, she came back on the line. "White Deer will stay here another night. I'll come over and we'll plan out how we're going to exorcise Mr. B & U, but I can't actually do anything about it until tomorrow. That's when my vacation starts. I'm sorry, Em, that's the best I can do. I can't afford to miss my shift tonight."
I relaxed. "That's fine. I can hold out one more night as long as I know the kids are safe. When can you be over?"
"Give me half an hour. Meanwhile, be careful. When Harlow broke that bottle, I think the genie escaped, if you know what I mean."
As I replaced the receiver, I knew precisely what she meant. And I wasn't looking forward to trying to put the genie back in the bottle.
Chapter Nineteen
Murray pulled into the driveway as I finished making up a pot of mint mocha for us. Her breath came in little puffs as she slipped through the back door, into the kitchen. "Hey, chick." She gave me a hug as I asked how the kids were. "I left them in the middle of some top-secret projects." She winked, and I immediately had visions of being inundated with homemade pot-holders and birdhouses for Christmas.
I pressed a mug into her hand and handed her a plate of cookies. As she settled in at the table, I retrieved the ouroboros, which I had placed on a tray. I had fought the urge to douse it with Florida water, a Voudoun equivalent of holy water, and salt, which would neutralize some of the energy. "Don't touch it." I set the tray in front of her. "I have the awful feeling that Harlow wouldn't have been hurt if she hadn't picked this up."
Murray held her hand over the pendant, fingers a hairbreadth away from the metal. I held my breath, willing her not to slip. After a moment she pushed the plate away. "Oh, man, bad medicine. Big bad. This thing is supercharged, Em. I think you're right: Anything that comes in contact with this is a sitting duck." I had touched it. I didn't have to say anything. She knew what I was thinking. "We have to get rid of him."
I pulled out Nanna's journal. "I found an exorcism that might reverse that part of Nanna's spell. It's meant to clear out astral entities." I pushed the book over to her. "It's in German, but I can translate."
>
I laid out the basic text for her and she leaned back in her chair, thinking. After a few minutes, she nodded. "This should work, but it's going to be nasty going in. Think we're up to it?"
"We have to be; nobody else can do it for us." I closed the book and took another sip of my espresso. "So Walter got busted for killing Diana?"
Murray gave me a queer look. "Do you think he did it?"
Did I believe he did it? "Truthfully? I have no idea." I thought about it for another moment. "No. I can't tell you why, even though I should be the one accusing him here, considering I think he killed Susan. There's something very suspicious about this entire situation. And what the hell is up with his stepbrother? That dude has some serious issues. By the way, do you know who inherits Diana's estate?"
"Slow down—one question at a time. I'm going to attend Diana's funeral on Tuesday and see what I can find out. As far as Joshua, he's pretty much eaten up by hatred—he's so angry at Walt that it's a wonder he didn't burst in there and kill him. I'll bet he empathizes with Diana, since Walt seems to have cut them both out of the family. The inheritance thing sent him over the edge, I think." She stood up and rinsed her cup, then grabbed her jacket and zipped it up.
"Why did you decide to go to Diana's funeral?" I had thought about attending, too, but I had to work at the shop, and I'd been blowing off too many days. Cinnamon's paycheck was going to be a nice, fat one for Christmas this year.
She grinned. "I figured since Harlow's out of the picture, you need a replacement. I may not have contacts among the upper crust, but I sure as hell can find out a lot you can't. Walter won't be there—obviously. He's got money, but it will be several days before his arraignment comes up. You know, when Susan died, I was convinced it was an accident. Now that Diana's dead and it looks like Walt might be our man, I'm not so sure."
I jumped up and gave her a huge hug. "Thank you! Oh, thank you! So, we tackle Mr. B & U tomorrow evening, then?"
"We'll take him on, Em. And we'll win. I've got a meeting tomorrow afternoon, but I'll be done in plenty of time. And I'll beg another day from White Deer. By Tuesday it should be safe for the kids to come home again."
Ghost of a Chance Page 19
